


Background

by Tamabonotchi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamabonotchi/pseuds/Tamabonotchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Italy could only watch in the background in everything. Italy was fine with that. But after being with Germany, he is forced to watch behind everything again, despite his wish to be up front again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Background

Italy could only watch in the background in everything. Italy was fine with that. He remained on the down low, even in wars he participated in.

He could remember after the First World War, all the focus was on the young Germany- it was his fault for the entire war (when Italy remembered it was really Austria who started it) and he had to pay for everything.

Italy saw the wrong in it, but he of all people couldn't do anything. He was upset at his own allies. He lost much in the war, despite being on the winning side. He was in a similar position as Germany.

They were allies in the next war, the Axis Powers. He and Germany. Together.

_"Hey, Germany! Let's relax today!" Italy hugged the German from behind, inhaling the scent of his clean uniform._

_"We have to train, Italy." The man chided, trying to pry the Italian's fingers off._

_"Please, just for a little while. Ludwig needs to relax a little, you shouldn't always be tense!" Germany gave him a look before sighing._

_It was true- Germany was dominating in the war, and Italy was doing decent. Everything was going fine, yet Germany was waiting like he would have to fight an army any minute._

_Italy enjoyed those afternoons when they just sat under the shade and talked, Germany forgetting about training entirely._

Italy watched as Russia walked out of the building where was being held by the Allies. England, France, and America must be still arguing about what to do with Germany while said nation remained silent. He felt a shiver when he saw Russia's satisfied smile as he passed him. His heart sped up, panicking. What if they had done something to Germany? What if Russia took him as a subordinate of his- No, they wouldn't be that cruel. Still, Italy felt the worry rising as he rushed inside and walked along the corridors looking for Germany.

_"I'm s-sorry, Germany- but please help me!" Italy whimpered._

_"I'm coming; don't do anything until I get there." Germany assured and ended their transmission. He had sounded exhausted; Italy heard a hint of mourning in his voice-he must be affected by Rommel's death. Italy could understand if a man all of his people thought of as a hero died._

_Or rather, was forced to commit suicide._

_It was becoming apparent, Germany was no longer advancing- he was trying to defend from several sides. The Allies were closing in. Italy was doing even worse. He could feel something terrible bad was going to come, but-_

_"Italy, are you OK?" Germany burst in. His breathing was heavy, and his once perfect, muscular form had deteriorated from the war and rations set on everyone. Italy could only hold him, sobbing._

_"Germany- I, it's terrible- they're- death, I-I'm." He couldn't form a single coherent sentence between his sobbing as he clenched Germany's arms. Germany wrapped his arms around him, whispering soothing noises (sweet nothings, like he enjoyed) to calm him down. Germany spent the night as they fell asleep, everything else about the war and losing far, far away._

_Italy couldn't tell him about how Mussolini was going to be executed, and Italy would desert him. He couldn't tell that to Germany- to Ludwig._

_He couldn't tell him goodbye._

"England! Where's Germany?" Italy asked when he bumped into the other nation.

"He's in his room." England answered curtly.

"What did you do to him? What did you do to Germany?" He exclaimed.

"Shove off." England walked away, disappearing around a corner. Italy rushed down the corridor. He arrived to a door, hearing voices coming from the room. He could see America and France sitting at a wooden table. Germany's back was to Italy, but Italy could see the bandage that covered around his head, covering an eye. His form was stiff, bandages around an arm and enough white peeking out from under his loose sheet of a shirt.

"Germany…" It came out in a hoarse whisper, but all three men at the table look at the Italian, but he only stared at Germany. He gasped in horror when he was the bruises and cuts marring Germany's face. "Oh, Germany-" Italy took a step toward the three, but froze.

Germany looked pale as a ghost, but his stare pierced right through Italy like a shot in the chest- rage, grief, hurt were all shown in his eyes. Italy was about to call out again but he turned back forward, only glaring at Italy for a few seconds.

"Italy, what are you doing here?" France abruptly stood up and walked towards him.

"Please leave, we're finishing business." America called, sounding colder than Italy has ever heard him.

"What are you doing to Germany? Is Germany alright?" Italy was rooted to his spot as France tried to push him out of the room. "Germany, do something!" He called desperately as America also stood up to remove him.

But Germany never turned around again.

They kicked him out, leaving him in the dark.

* * *

Italy wasn't allowed near Germany for several months, countries telling him he had to keep distance away. It wasn't long until Italy had finally heard the price Germany had to pay.

They split Germany up. Prussia was taken by Russia, while Germany was under the control of England, America, and France. Germany was trying to rebuild everything he had lost, while Italy heard East Germany was being torn by Russia. Italy couldn't help but think about all the beautiful cities and places he and Germany visited that were probably being turned into nothing.

Months became over a year of Italy last talking to Germany, and he can't stand it. He can only stare at a distance at the sparse meetings, where he sees America sitting next to him- where he used to sit.

Italy rushed to Germany's new house- it wasn't as big and nice as the one in East Germany, but it fit him well. He walked up the steps and stopped at the front door.

"Should I interrupt Germany? Maybe he's working… He would get mad." Italy started thinking, hesitating. It was then the thought that had been haunting him since then came back into his mind.

Germany would hate him now. He would never want to talk to him, for what he had done- to him.

"Maybe I should have brought some pasta… Or that beer he likes?" Italy continued muttering. It was then did said man return home with groceries.

"I-Italy…" Italy jumped and turned to see Germany looking back at him. "What are you doing…?"

"G-Germany!" Italy yelled and rushed towards the man.

He promptly fell on the sidewalk, forgetting the steps.

* * *

"Thank you, Germany." Italy mumbled as Germany finished cleaning the scratches on his arms. "Sorry, I forgot there were steps there." Italy gave a light laugh.

"It's fine." He assured and stood up from the table. Italy watched as Germany went to put away the groceries. He was looking fine, although still a bit thin.

"Germany…" He didn't know when he stood up and walked to Germany, but it didn't matter when he wrapped his arms around him (like all those other times) and inhaled into his shirt. He couldn't stop as tears welled up.

He didn't smell the same.

"Germany, I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Italy could feel arms rubbing his back, and he could hear those sweet nothings again. They remained in silence, neither moving from that spot.

"Does Germany hate Italy?" Italy asked, breaking the quiet.

"Yes." The word cut through the air like a knife, and Italy couldn't help but choke. Everything was coming crashing down, as Italy took a step back from Germany.

"I-I understand. Completely. I'm sorry for intruding so suddenly. I should go home now, Brother will get angry." He had to get out of there, Italy thought. He turned away; the only thought was to run away, like he always did.

"Italy-" He slipped out of Germany's grasp and tried to hurriedly walk, when a strong hand grabbed his shoulder. "Feliciano."

"No, please, Germany. I shouldn't stay any longer." Italy whispered, but Germany kept a tight grip. "It's my fault. Germany should hate me, for what I've done."

"Feliciano you haven't done anything." Italy stole a glance at the man, confused. Germany never called him Feliciano.

"Countries will hold grudges, but we don't have to, Feliciano." The German explained. It was then Italy noticed that Germany was not angry.

He understood.

"Germa-Ludwig." It felt odd calling Germany that- the sound of intimacy. "Does Ludwig hate me?" He asked. When Germany- _Ludwig-_ shook his head, Italy- _Feliciano_ \- could do nothing but embrace the other.

"I could never hate you."

* * *

Italy could only watch in the background as years passed, and West Germany became stronger, and his relations with France became closer than before. He watched as Germany became one country again, seeing his brother again since the Iron Curtain was brought up.

But Italy-Feliciano- was fine.

"Good morning Ludwig!" Feliciano greeted when he saw the German waking up. He curled up next to the other as sheets were kicked off the bed like every day. He gave a chaste kiss and giggled as the man was coming around.

"Ah… Good morning Feliciano." He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He kissed Feliciano's forehead as he stretched, earning another giggle from the Italian.

"What are you doing today?" Feliciano asked as they stayed in bed, even though they should be getting ready for the day. "I want to stay, let's just cuddle!"

"We can't, we both have a meeting today." Ludwig sighed as Feliciano started fidgeting.

"Just for a little while? France will understand you know that!" He whined, twirling a bit of Ludwig's hair. Ludwig sighed, looking over to the clock hanging on the wall. France would understand, but Ludwig would have to deal with a whole meeting of France making lewd jokes.

Feliciano tugged at his shirt, mewling. "Please, Ludwig?"

"Only for a couple of minutes, then we have to get ready." Ludwig acquiesced. Feliciano nodded.

Everything that happens up front, works with what happens behind the scenes.


End file.
